


Epic Catch and Release

by CodenameMeretricious



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ANW AU, American Ninja Warrior - Freeform, Competition, Gay Disasters, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Reality TV, Voltron au, american ninja warrior au, minor adashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29625660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameMeretricious/pseuds/CodenameMeretricious
Summary: The American Ninja Warrior AU that nobody asked for. Liberal use of the ANW rules because I do what I want and I want Klance pining.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	Epic Catch and Release

Keith didn’t know what he had expected but it really wasn’t this.

It was Lance. Of course it was fucking Lance. The smug bastard had won the city qualifier in Miami and was now ready to taunt Keith at the St. Louis arena for Round Two.

He wasn’t supposed to know that Lance had made it, but Shiro was bad about turning off his notifications, despite Keith constantly trying to educate him on how to do it. He’d finished his third rope climb of the day and had paused for a slug of water, sweat dripping from his hair as it flopped in front of his face. He’d seen the lit-up screen and his stomach had immediately dropped.

Lance fucking McClain, the infuriating, showboating Floridian was nothing but trouble. Constantly smirking at the crowd and telling the story of how his parents had rowed across the Gulf to raise their kids in the States. Sure, Keith wasn’t immune to the triumphant story of immigration, but he could only take so much of the melodramatic music and narration over childhood photos. And yes, the producers had loved his own orphan upbringing, trained by his step-brother and working his way through college on odd jobs and night shifts, but he didn’t talk about it nonstop or make Shiro and his husband Adam wear shirts with a family photo on it.

Of course, Shiro was a Sasuke course champion so it wasn’t like Keith was exactly flying under the radar.

But neither was Lance.

He’d chosen to train with Allura and James. The latter because he’d trained with Keith and was therefore decent at climbing and grip strength, and the former because, if rumors were true, she’d occasionally let him share her bed.

And maybe they’d shared a gym early on, when Keith had gone to Florida looking for any trace of his vanished mother. And maybe Lance had suggested they have a bit of a rivalry. And maybe Keith had ignored him because he was loud and brash and (annoyingly) fast and good with endurance training.

And maybe he hadn’t replied to any of the Facebook messages Lance sent when Keith had gone back to Phoenix without notice and maybe possibly did actually remember that one drunken night more than he’d admitted to Lance the next morning.

But that was beside the point.

And it wasn't just that Lance now trained with Keith’s (horrible, haughty) ex and wouldn’t stop messaging him online and sending him texts, it was what he wore. That tank top. That goddamned heather gray racerback and neon blue shorts, skintight compression leggings dark and black underneath. It was the way that those shorts were just a little too short and the way that that damn racerback grew dark and damp with perspiration as the course went on. The impish grin as he pushed his hair back from his sculpted eyebrows, the flash of abs when he pulled the hem of the shirt up to wipe the sweat from his lip. Because Lance McClain was annoying, of course, but more than anything, he was hot.

God, Keith hated him.

“You’re not supposed to rest for another two sets,” Shiro chided, stepping back out from his small closet office.

“Results are in.” Keith lifted the phone.

Right. So they were going to meet again. Well, they were going to be in the same place at the same time and Keith would have to deal with the sob story and perfect skin in person. Maybe Lance would fall on the first obstacle. It was always funny when his competitors returned to the green room drenched.

Shiro took the phone, glancing down and casually scrolling through it. “All right, this Kinkade guy beat your speed but it looks like you can make that up.” Another few taps and scrolling. “Lance might give you a run though, he’s quick.”

Keith grunted. Shiro wasn’t supposed to know about his utter dislike of the other competitors. Well, competitor. Kinkade seemed like a good guy and that Ezor chick had been a gymnast so there was no doubt she’d make Keith work for it, but it was the flashy antics and neon sports gear that really got into his head. It was so distracting. What was wrong with simple black and red? Why did colors need to be neon?

“We should up your miles,” Shiro said, mostly to himself.

“Why?” Keith hated running. The worst part about these damn courses was the running. Why did it need to be timed? But also, why did he need to train like a marathon runner for a four minute sprint?

“It’s about being--”

“Well-rounded. But still, fuck you.”

Shiro pushed him off balance, chuckling as Keith (shorter, slim, rock-climbing Keith) rolled out of the fall and foolishly attempted to push Shiro (tall, buff, incredibly well-built Shiro) back. It didn’t even get his attention. “Right, finish this set and hit the track.”

Keith groaned.

“You need entry music.”

“What now?” Keith dropped from the balance beam he’d been jogging across, reaching for the towel Shiro handed him and wiping away the sweat forming on his brow and palms.

“Like baseball players. Walk-up music.” Shiro looked at him blankly, casually scrolling through Keith’s phone in one hand while also on his own in the other.

“I still don’t understand,” Keith said, walking back to the far wall toward the racks of free weights. Shiro followed behind, and Keith could see his eyes flash from phone to phone in the mirrored wall along the gym.

“When you come out at the start. Usually the producers pick for the town competitions but you need your own for the next rounds and no, you cannot use ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams.’”

“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever hear—give me that!”

Shiro pulled the snatched weight back further, infuriatingly still looking at the phones now stacked in his hand and acting like the 20 pound dumbbell was nothing. “You don’t answer your emails so I do. What song do you want?”

“I don’t care, you pick something. And I can’t answer my emails when you don’t let me have my phone during practice.”

Shiro sighed, heavy and drawn as if Keith couldn’t possibly be more of a disappointment. “You practice six hours a day, Keith.”

“Six hours to miss emails.”

“Do I want to know what you do with the other 18?”

“How do I know what you’re doing? You’re at the gym twelve hours a day, who knows what you get up to the other twelve.”

“Classic comeback, Kit, but we live together.”

Keith bristled at the dismissal but eased at the pet name. It wasn’t often that his step-brother called him that, his voice always softened when it did. It was what Keith’s mother had called him, before she disappeared on them all.

“I’m tired, hungry, and that damn rope skinned my hands again. You pick the fucking song.” Keith reached up once more, this time allowed to take the weight from Shiro’s ridiculously sculpted arms.

“Your hands will get stronger, but you should—“

“Get used to the pain, I know.” Keith heaved a sigh before rolling his shoulders, taking up his position in front of the mirrored wall. He could see Adam in the background, taking notes on the new guy in front of him on the treadmill. Axca was busy on the Stairmaster but the gym was otherwise empty.

Keith knew he was partially to blame. Shiro had given up all his other clients to train Keith. He didn’t need to, Keith had often reminded him, but his brother was stubborn and it wasn’t like Keith could pay someone else or make do with a regular gym. Still. He’d win next week and he’d win again and again until there was a check with his name on it for a million dollars.

“I was going to say pick a song by the end of the session, but yeah, that too.” Shiro waved Keith’s phone in front of him before setting it down on the bench beside them. “Ten sets today.”

Keith nodded and got back to work.

Keith eventually submitted to letting Shiro pick a song. He’d sent in whatever Imagine Dragons single was popular. Keith didn’t really care. He barely heard the music or the crowd or anything when he first stepped up to the beginning of the course.

It was a run through, but still. He could feel the tingling adrenaline beginning at his fingertips, the slight shake in his legs as he faced the course, allowing the producers and camera people to adjust him and find a mark. It was still daylight, bright noon sun scorching down on the blacktop of the giant mall to their right. They were just off it, probably set up over some parking lot like a circus tent—up and down each day, the last of the trucks rolling out before the crowd did. He’d done this a few times now, the practice runs, the official ones filmed for the crowd. The reshoots of specific obstacles for the teasers they aired after the winners were counted.

It was all fine until Lance showed up.

Keith had been given the all clear by Hunk, the segment director who was much nicer (and more talkative) than the small, austere woman who’d been taping in Phoenix. But as he walked back toward Shiro, water bottle in hand, he heard the beginning of a new song. Not the steady, pulsing beat of his own intro music. This was poppy, some snappy beat he’d heard on the radio as he scanned for anything good.

He found his gaze going toward the start box, Lance there, stretching out his quads, one foot held behind him as he grinned at Hunk.

“I’m too hot. Hot damn.”

It wasn’t until he’d nearly walked into Shiro that Keith found his footing again and shook his head, forcing himself to look away from the tall, brown-haired boy shaking his hips along to the beat as the shot was lined up.

“Easy,” Shiro said, steadying him with one hand. He was on his phone again, no doubt checking in on the gym’s cameras (though Adam had-it-handled-Jesus-Christ-Shiro-you-have-to-trust-me-learn-to-let-it-go) or running over Keith’s training program. “Keep drinking,” he said, nodding to the water bottle in Keith’s hand.

Nodding, and happy to have anything to focus on other than the quick blur of Lance jogging along the course for a dry run, Keith took a large gulp, nearly choking when his eyes caught the crisp white of the tank Lance had on today, throwing his tan skin into stark relief, and Keith forgot how to swallow and spilled water all down his front. He gasped, quickly wiping his face with his forearm, sheepishly looking around to make sure the cameras hadn’t picked up that graceful moment.

Thankfully no one noticed, not even Shiro, and he was quickly ushered back to the green room for his final rundown and schedule.

“Good luck tonight,” Shiro said, smiling down at the only other competitor in the room. They were small, a wild array of mousey hair held back from their face by a neon green headband.

“Thanks, Shiro,” they replied, grinning up at Shiro, who was nearly double their size. “And you too, Keith.”

“Sorry?”

“Pidge. We met when I stopped by Shiro’s gym to train for a week?” They frowned at him, arms crossed over their chest. The top of their head barely came up to Keith’s chin but he grinned down at them now, catching the fierce look in the big brown eyes.

“Right. You’re the one who broke into the security system at one in the morning.”

“I like to train on my own schedule.”

“You never did tell me how you did that,” Shiro said, not looking all that put out about it despite his having hurled himself out of bed and out of the apartment when his phone had chimed that the system had been turned off in the wee hours of the morning. Adam had gone after him. Keith had stayed on the couch.

Pidge pushed their glasses further up their nose, a wicked grin crossing their face. “Not really information you need to know, Shirogane.”

“Then not a gym you can ever train in again, Holt.”

Pidge chuckled but hip checked Shiro. Well, tried to. They more so knocked his knee but the message was sent. Shiro had always been too fond of the oddballs. Keith included.

“Pidge, you’re on.” Another brown head stuck its way through the door, the same face as Pidge’s own with a slightly heavier brow. “Shiro, good to see you, man.”

“Matt,” Shiro nodded.

Pidge waved as they followed their brother out and towards the course. And then Lance stepped through the door a moment after.

He was laughing, his white teeth so perfectly fucking straight in his perfectly proportionate face that was too fucking much for Keith to look at right now. It was the sun, he told himself, he was woozy because of the adrenaline and the heat. That was all. No other reason. The heat growing in his navel was simply excitement for the course. Just a good old adrenaline kick. No hormones involved there at all. Not for self-important Lance McClain.

Growling, Keith forced his grit teeth into a quick smile, turning towards the door to leave.

“You looked good out there, Kogane,” Allura, Lance’s coach who equaled him in looks but surpassed him in brains, nodded at Keith as he made for the door.

“Thanks,” he said, teeth and lips barely moving.

“Still gay, Shiro?”

“No dick, Allura?” Shiro replied breezily.

“And still married?”

“Til death.”

“Shame.”

Shiro chuckled, pecking Allura on the cheek as he stepped past. They’d both made it to the Sasuke course years ago and it had become tradition for them to greet each other this way.

Keith tapped his fingers against his thigh, forcing himself to take small, tiny breaths despite his lungs wanting to absolutely not work right now. Lance was hot, sure, but he was just a competitor. Just another showboat who loved the cameras more than the competition. That was all. No previously-budding-friendship-and-maybe-more there. Did Shiro always walk this slowly?

“My best to Adam,” he heard Allura call before they were both finally, blissfully, out of the room and into the hallway, moving steadily toward the doorway that led to their attached hotel and freedom.

“Jesus, calm down, Keith.”

“Just hot,” he replied. “Need the AC.”

“There’s AC in the green room.” Thankfully though, Shiro didn’t comment further. Keith knew that if he turned around now he’d see his brother’s raised eyebrows, wicked gray eyes far more knowing than Keith really wanted to acknowledge. He currently slept on Shiro’s couch in his and Adam's one bedroom apartment. They were already far closer than was ideal for a recently married couple and their twenty-something ward. There was only so much that headphones or the showerhead could cover up. On either end.

Eventually they made it back to their room, Keith veering off into the bathroom to shower (and not think about Lance’s triceps, thank you very much) and cool down from the terrible Midwest heat and humidity combo. He knew Shiro would call down for room service, choosing something perfectly balanced that would meet Keith’s macros for the day with added carbs because they both knew he’d burn off a lot of adrenaline before actually getting started. The course wasn’t that exerting anyway, especially following the months of prep he’d done to get this far.

Two hours later and he was back in the green room, Shiro outside with the other friends, coaches, and families that would be integrated by the producers as Keith prepared and ran his race. There were 20 other hopefuls in Missouri today, all of them trying to get one of the ten spots to Houston and Round Three.

Ezor had gone first, setting a quick pace but slowing down at the Warp Wall, as usual. Keith had watched as her multi-colored ponytail whipped behind her, her coach and girlfriend, Zethrid, urging her on from the sidelines.

“A great run from the former gymnast,” he could hear Zuri saying through the TV in the green room. He could also hear the distant echo of the live audio outside but it was easier to focus on the clear, mic-captured words.

“She’s definitely setting the pace here tonight. How do you think the others will do?” Matt asked.

“Well, we’ve seen Ryan Kinkade scale the Warp Wall without even trying but the Salmon Ladder is going to prove difficult for him,” Zuri said. “We do know there are a few good climbers here today that may just have the advantage.”

“Are you saying size isn’t everything?” Matt laughed.

Keith sympathized with Zuri as she gave a forced chuckle. “Sometimes it pays to be smaller.”

“I’m unfamiliar.” Thank God the producers cut much of the commentary from the televised episode.

“Next up is Lance McClain,” Akbar’s voice spoke up, and Keith pulled himself up from his stretched crouch to watch. Neon blue shorts, light gray tank. Damn him. “Lance how are you feeling tonight?”

“Feeling ready to razzle dazzle,” Lance, finger guns out and blazing, replied. There was a collective groan in the green room.

“What a prick,” Keith heard. He snorted, silently agreeing.

Lance’s run was typical Lance. He paused after each accomplished obstacle to smile and wave at the crowd, winking at the camera as he shook out his shoulders and hands before launching into the next challenge. He seemed to have an endless supply of family members, most of whom were shouting encouragement in Spanish and English, giant posters of ‘Go Lance!’ held above their heads.

The Roulette Row was the final obstacle before the Wall today, proving to be the decider in who completed the course. Lance easily reached onto the first ring, body swinging as he tried to gain enough momentum to launch to the next one. A bit of his toned stomach was visible above the neon shorts, the shadow of his abs clear even though the camera. Keith licked his lips. He may or may not remember kissing all the way down those abs to the cut of sharp hips and below.

“And it looks like he may be losing a bit of momentum here,” Matt said as Lance’s body bowed, swinging back and forth before he threw himself at the next ring. He caught it, barely, and quickly swung and launched toward the third and final ring.

“A lucky grab there but can he finish? It’s all about timing here,” Akbur said. “Oh, and Lance McClain has passed Roulette Row! Only the Warp Wall now stands between him and Round Three.”

Keith looked away. The Warp Wall was easy, and he knew Lance would be fine. He heard the crowd cheering just moments later as he reached for his tape. Shiro still didn’t know about his broken toe, but he’d been fine just wrapping it during practice. The blisters and calluses on his hands were aching for chalk but he knew it wasn’t allowed. He bit the edge of the tape, finishing his wrapping as he pulled his shoe back on, preparing to be called out to the course by the producers.

If there hadn’t been a crowd Keith would have been fine. He could handle the obstacles and didn’t even mind the commentary, but the gasps and shouts of the crowd always jarred him, proving hardest to tune out as he stepped up to the start. He bounced on the balls of his feet, flexing his fingers. He had to talk, had to admit that St. Louis was humid and sticky and gross in the middle of summer and he wasn’t used to heat outside the desert.

The starting platform camera swung around to him, a faceless crew member holding the large black lens up to his face. Keith blinked, forcing his lungs to suck in the moist, heavy air and push it back out again.

The voices of the commentators filtered in and he could hear Shiro shouting his name. Right. Camera first, then the course. Focus. He could do this. Lance had done this. And if Lance could do this, Keith could definitely do this. Lance had swung his body through Roulette Row in record time, the lithe muscles under his dark skin straining, unrestricted by sleeves as his biceps had curled with each catch, holding his body up until elongating, dropping down and swinging forward once more. There’d been beads of sweat trickling down Lance’s forehead, his brown hair darkened and sticking to his damp face. Keith could hear the chuckle and victory crow as Lance had landed, bowing to the crowd before easily jogging up the Warp Wall, those strong arms again reaching out, grabbing for the ledge and hoisting his body up. The neon shorts had ridden up, the bulge of a well defined thigh peeking underneath--

“Keith?”

Right. TV. He was on fucking TV and did not need to be thinking about the way that Lance McClain could move his hips or the dark dusting of hair that had been visible when his tank top had risen up--dammit!

“Just focusing in,” he said, coughing to cover the dry squeak that escaped him. He could feel his cheeks flush with embarrassment but knew it could be played off as the heat. He was pale, built for the indoors rather than the sun. They would understand.

“And the new time to beat is on the clock. Zuri, do you think he can make it?”

“From what we saw of Keith in Round One I think he has a chance.”

“All right, Keith, on your mark.”

The camera person backed off and Keith looked up to see the large clock beside the hosts switch to zero. He shook out his hands again.

“Go!”

Keith didn’t think much during the course. He always heard Shiro’s mantra willing him to be patient, just for a moment, and breathe before launching into the next obstacle. The height didn’t scare him, though he longed for his grips and chalk as the sharp plastic of the rigs bit into his hands. He remembered his core, letting it absorb the shock and maintain his center of gravity. Most of his opponents seemed to think that big biceps were all that were needed to complete the course, but brute strength would only get you so far. Hell, even Shiro with all his mass had leaned down slightly for his final few runs in Japan.

Springy pads under his feet, the dull slap of his sneakers on the heavy mats between each obstacle, one heartstopping moment of flight, and another grip, fingers aching but dexterous, holding up his entire bodyweight. Abs clenched, lungs expanding, knees up then down, momentum. It wasn’t until he swung his body up and onto the final platform after the Warp Wall that he realized he was through. His hearing came back slowly, his fingers red and sore as he stood up, looking at the clock.

Two seconds slower than Lance.

Fuck.

He bit his cheek, forcing his face into a grin as he waved down at the crowd. Another camera was pushed into his face and he must have answered the questions asked of him because he was ushered down the stairs by a producer and led back into the green room, a water bottle suddenly in his hands and a towel tossed toward his head.

“Good run,” a PA said, smiling at him and gesturing down the hall. They all had to sit around and wait until the final runs, just in case the producers wanted to reshoot a close up or get more commentary for the round. Because Keith relied on few words, he was often overshadowed by his more boisterous, star-hungry peers.

He sucked in a breath, letting it stir around his body and back into his aching limbs before letting it out again. He wiped his face with the towel and walked toward one wall, pulling his foot up behind him to stretch. It wasn’t the fastest time, but it should be enough to get him through to the next round and one step closer to the million dollars he so desperately needed.

“Good job, man.” The voice was quiet, the smile in it obvious.

Keith swung around, not expecting Lance to be standing behind him. “Er...thanks.”

“James wasn’t kidding, you do have amazing grip strength.”

“Well, if James said so…” Keith let the sentiment fade, catching himself mid scowl. He watched as Lance’s blue eyes twinkled at him, clearly in on the joke. Keith huffed a breath, still slightly tired from his run.

“He’s a prick, but Allura doesn’t like climbing.”

Keith nodded, rolling his lips into his mouth and popping them back out again. Lance was eased against the wall, casually tipped on his shoulder, ankles crossed. There was a water bottle resting in one hand, the label torn off thanks to production.

“It’s shitty water.”

“What?”

What was a good question. Shitty water? Here was Lance, tall, lithe, slightly damp and sweaty Lance standing in front of him in an otherwise empty room and that was what came to his mind? Not ‘hey, your run was great too,’ or ‘hey, I like the way your ass looks in those shorts and I desperately want to go down on you again.’ Nope. Just, “Dasani. It’s shit.”

Lance twisted his wrist, bringing the water bottle in question up to his face as though he could see the brand somewhere on the pristine plastic. Meanwhile, Keith beat himself up internally for being the absolute dumbest bitch alive. “Right.”

“Sorry, it’s ju--”

But suddenly Lance wasn’t leaning on the wall anymore. No, Lance had shifted his weight and stepped forward. Forward into Keith’s space. Forward again until Keith was the one pressed up against the wall, his calloused fingers scrabbling uselessly on the smooth laminate counter behind him.

“You know,” Lance said, face mere inches away from Keith’s. It wasn’t clear which one of them made the desperate gasp at the proximity but it definitely wasn’t the Floridian. ‘I always wondered what else those hands of yours could do.”

Keith’s brain short circuited. But there was a light chuckle, a huff of warm breath across his face, and then Lance was back across the room, walking through the doorway with a wink and the damn finger guns he liked to flash the camera.

Fuck.

Keith couldn’t decide if Lance remembered that night and was playing with him or if he genuinely hadn’t remembered a single thing the day they woke up next to each other and Keith packed his bag.

He’d thought about it the whole flight home to Arizona, the two weeks of extra training, the flight to Texas, the drive to the Houston hotel, and the first hour in the green room production rundown until Lance himself appeared in front of him again.

“Sticking with Imagine Dragons?” Lance asked, his blindingly white grin the only thing Keith could look at.

“You didn’t go for ‘Despacito’?”

“Bro, I’m Cuban, not Puerto Rican,” Lance replied, throwing his hand up to his heart as his mouth dropped into a large O. It made Keith’s brain short-circuit, seeing Lance’s mouth like that again.

“My heart is in Havana oh na-na,” he found himself humming, eyes unable to stray from Lance’s lips as the mock shock turned into a small grin.

Lance snorted. “Get fucked.”

“All right,” Hunk clapped, drawing Keith’s attention back to what they were supposed to be doing. He was happy to see the man again, he didn’t ask Keith back for reshoots. “You’ll have another runthrough at 4pm today and we’ll be taping at 6:15 sharp. Make sure to eat and stay hydrated, it is still August.”

There was a collective nod from the competitors and coaches in the room and Keith turned back around to look for Lance but found Shiro instead, a bottle of red Gatorade held out to him.

“Sleep or walk?” Shiro asked.

Keith bit his lip. He wanted to sleep, had, in fact, promised Shiro that he would since he’d stayed up late the night before watching every single video Lance had posted on his recently created YouTube channel. “Walk.”

“Do you want company?” Sometimes it was really nice to have your brother as your coach. Shiro knew that Keith wouldn’t want to talk, knew that he’d need to work out whatever was in his head before he could move on or explain it all to Shiro. If he ever did either of those things.

“Nah, I’m good,” Keith said, making sure to smile as he took the room keycard from Shiro and ducked out of the tent and into the late morning sun. He didn’t know where he was headed but he had a smartphone and twenty bucks in his wallet so he couldn’t get into too much trouble.

He made it back to the room in time to eat, change, and head back out to complete the runthrough. He’d ended up wondering a small loop of the city, meandering through a park, watching employees sweat through their business suits, and generally finding not a single moment of peace inside his head. Did he want Lance to remember? Did he want to feel Lance’s heated skin beneath his rough palms again, to draw out a huff and a moan as he sucked at the tender spot beneath Lance’s sharp jaw where his ear met his neck?

Did he want to absolutely lose his shit when he woke up the next morning and realized that they were both naked and that it wasn’t a dream and that there was no way in hell he could ever acknowledge what had happened?

Unclear.

He barely registered the course that night. He watched Kinkade fall, slipping and losing his grip on the Spin Cycle. Veronica was the first to be knocked out by Deja Vu, Pidge following soon after. There were five fails in a row, all the contestants returning wet and dripping from the pool beneath it. Keith winced as they came in, it was one of his least favorite obstacles.

It didn’t seem to bother Lance. He flew through it, faster than he normally seemed to complete the course. They were one step away from the battle for a million dollars and while he still grinned and winked at the crowd, his focus was clearly more present than it had been before. The blue eyes were clear, no hesitation in him as he jumped into each new obstacle. It was a long course, more grueling than Round Two by far, and slowly but surely each competitor was knocked out until Lance was the only one to complete it. Until Keith was the only one left in the green room.

“And last up tonight is Keith Kogane,” Zuri said, voice loud in the empty room.

Keith swallowed hard and nodded at the PA waiting beside the door. He jogged out. All he had to do was finish. Don’t worry about timing, don’t fuss about speed. Just finish. Just finish this damn course and stop thinking about Lance McClain and how he somehow made neon work even though it really shouldn't work.

“We’ve seen some tough competitors fall tonight,” Matt said as Keith climbed up the safety ladder to the starting platform.

“That’s right, Matt, tonight’s course has been difficult for sure,” Akbar said.

“Let’s go, Keith!” Shiro shouted from below and Keith let out a breath at the familiar voice. He knew he would be able to see Shiro if he looked down now. They always pulled the family and friends out to the side for filming. But he also knew that Lance would be right next to him. When only one person had made it through, the producers always liked to watch their reactions as everyone else failed.

Letting out a huge breath, Keith flexed his toes in his shoes. His broken toe had been discovered when Adam had caught him wincing in the bathroom late at night, trying to tape it better. A brief trip to the ER and a promise to not tell Shiro it had happened was enough to settle some of the guilt inside him.

After all, he’d broken the toe when Pidge, in their brief stint at the gym, had mentioned Lance and Keith had missed his landing.

Now, braced up as best as possible, he bounced on the balls of his feet, willing the roar of the crowd and the looming presence of the camera to fade away. Winning a television show was an unconventional way of making money, but it was all he had.

“Go!”

The Cycling Road was first up. It was one Shiro had practiced on and therefore made Keith try. It wasn’t difficult, far easier to grip than flat planes of rock or small indoor handholds. He flipped across it easily, knowing that the Butterfly Wall was next and another non-issue. The course was climbing heavy, something that benefited Keith but still drained the strength of each and every competitor.

“Now, the Spider Flip is next and it’s one that Keith’s coach and brother, Takashi Shirogane, struggled with during his runs.”

Keith smirked. Shiro hated precision climbs. Shiro especially hated climbs that involved leaping from one platform to another.

“You’re right, Matt, but I don’t see this being a problem for Keith tonight.”

“And it looks like you’re right--Keith has made it through the Spider Flip!”

There was a round of applause from the crowd below but Keith let it remain a buzz in the back of his skull. His hands stung and he’d managed to put just the wrong amount of pressure on his injured toe.

The Pole Grasper followed and Keith was glad he’d chosen compression pants and therefore didn’t have to have the agonizing feel of bare skin sliding on metal. He didn’t pause through the entire obstacle, knowing it would only zap his momentum and cause him to fall. Lance had gotten into trouble here, slipping on the third pole before managing to hoist himself upward once more. Keith would have to teach him how to maintain his grip.

Not that Keith was going to teach Lance anything.

“Come on, Keith!”

Wait, Lance was shouting for him now? Keith looked down just to be sure, feeling the frown darkening his brow as he saw Lance, hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted. What the fuck?

“Some friendly encouragement from Lance McClain there,” Zuri said.

“Lance has stated the two have a bit of a rivalry but it seems to be all support now,” Akbar added.

Rivalry? They had a rivalry? It was a one-night stand and ignored messages, not a blood oath to murder the other. Keith shook his head.

He finally made it to Deja Vu, allowing himself a moment to catch his breath before starting. He still had the Nail Clipper to contest with and already his chest was heaving, the dark of the evening not doing a thing to soothe the heat of the day.

Not allowing himself to overthink it, he got the third bar locked into the cradles and swung toward the landing platform. He dropped onto it to another round of applause.

“And our second competitor of the night makes it through Deja Vu.”

“You know, we normally see Deja Vu in Round Two but it’s caused a surprising amount of trouble here in Round Three tonight.”

“And if Keith makes it past the last two obstacles he’ll be facing off with Lance McClain in the finals in Vegas.”

Right, no pressure at all here.

Wiping his hands on his shirt, Keith threw himself into finishing the course. He barely scraped through the Nail Clipper then it was quick work of the Crazy Clocks and he dropped to the end platform, a camera pushed close in on his sweating face and heaving chest.

He heard cheers and whistles from the crowd, could smell the sweat gathered beneath his arms and on his upper lip. He spoke again to the cameras, answered the hosts’ questions, and was lead toward Shiro, enveloping his brother in a hug.

And then Lance was there and smiling at him and smacking him on the shoulder. Keith looked at him, mouth hanging open because he’d forgotten just how pretty the freckles across Lance’s nose were and then he remembered the finger comment and he could feel his pale skin grow red.

“See you in Vegas, man,” Lance said, grinning at Keith and winking.

He should really talk to Lance. Technically he still had Lance’s number and it wasn’t like he had blocked him, he just hadn’t responded to any of the messages. And maybe he should text him, demand to know where Lance got off forgetting about everything they’d done but saying they were rivals and then flirting with him and winking on national television. Because Keith wasn’t a fan of feelings and he was having far too many about Lance Fucking McClain.

“Excited?” Shiro asked, collecting their luggage after a flight so short they barely had time to go up and down.

Keith grumbled a reply, looking around baggage claim as Adam tutted that he needed to rehydrate after the flight.

“Leave him be, Takashi,” Adam chided, passing Keith a water bottle.

“Nerves are normal, I’m just making sure he still knows this is for fun.”

“A million dollars would be very fun,” Keith said, taking his bag from Shiro as they headed toward the waiting car.

And he was excited. To try the new course, to potentially win a truly stupid amount of money. But not to see Lance again.

Because the more Keith tried to process what had happened the angrier he got. How did Lance not remember? They hadn’t been that drunk. And if he forgot, if he thought they were rivals, why did he keep _winking_ at Keith and saying suggestive things when no one else was around? Did he seriously not remember begging Keith to swallow him down and moaning out his name in between curses and sighs?

Keith grit his teeth. The final run was tomorrow. He had to do an interview today, then he was five minutes away from a million dollars and never seeing Lance again.

Because he definitely didn’t want to see Lance again.

So of course Lance was there waiting when they checked in to the hotel.

“Ah, there’s Mr. Sunshine,” Lance crowed, far too loudly for ten in the morning.

“Lance, leave him be.” Allura put her hand on his shoulder, her silver hair swept behind her back in a long braid and swinging with the movement. “Congratulations, Keith.”

He grunted out a thanks and looked down at the floor.

He could feel Shiro beside him, obviously looking around to see if James was also nearby. The shift in Shiro’s stance let him know they were safe for now, although enough time had passed that Keith (probably) wouldn't punch the asshole in the face.

Shiro might though.

Keith grinned at that and looked up, immediately caught by Lance’s bright blue eyes, already intent and focused on him. There was a question there, one that Keith couldn’t read, and he didn’t look away, despite, well, everything.

“See you tomorrow?” Lance asked.

Keith nodded.

There were two other contestants with them in Vegas. Keith didn’t bother to learn either of their names. Instead, he stayed in the corner of the green room, rolling out his muscles and slowly loosening up. He kept his headphones in, despite the lack of music playing, just so he would be left alone. Shiro still stood guard, his giant frame enough to keep the curious PAs and other contestants at a distance.

Lance was in the middle of it all, making friends and taking a series of selfies that Keith would later see on the secret Instagram account he’d made just to follow Lance’s.

They weren’t allowed to watch the course this time, only knowing if the contestant before them completed or failed the test. It was incredibly doubtful that any of them would complete the final round. It was notorious for being one impossible obstacle after another.

But Keith had trained on every single obstacle Shiro and Adam could recreate in their small gym and he’d made up for the others through variation and endurance. He’d done nothing but train since first getting scouted for the show by a producer who just so happened to train in the same rock climbing gym Keith had used once in LA. He’d been turned off by the name of the show-- Ninja Warrior? Really? There weren’t even any martial arts moves required--but had relented at the promise of a cash prize.

He was slated to go second tonight. The course was set up right along the Vegas Strip and he had seen glowing fountains and palm trees when they’d arrived at the hotel earlier.

If he completed the course tonight he was guaranteed $100,000 - more than enough to pay off the rest of his college loans and pay back Shiro and Adam, at least a little.

He didn’t really know what he’d do with another zero added to that number though. Lance had joked that they should open a gym of their own, teach kids how to rock climb and open it up to low-income students. Keith didn’t want to admit that he’d been slowly earning a business degree to do just that.

The first to run that night was a girl with a blonde ponytail and a bright pink t-shirt. She waved at them all, smiling at Lance, before bouncing out of the room and toward the course. Once Keith ran he’d be able to see how Lance and the other contestant did, but he had to get through it first.

It was odd that his entire future hung on whether or not he could complete a giant obstacle course live on TV.

A few moments later a PA stuck their head in the door, shaking her head as she informed them of the blonde girl’s course demise after the second obstacle. Ouch.

Keith was up next, though he had to wait as the commentators filled the allotted time. They didn’t expect anyone to make it through the course, really, so they were staggered out to fill the live 60 minutes.

“You remember that gym we talked about?” Lance asked, suddenly by Keith’s side.

Keith turned, looking at him. There was maybe an inch of height difference between them, but Keith didn’t feel like he was the taller of the two. Lance was smiling at him, his face open and warm.

“I still think you should do it.”

“I thought you wanted to,” Keith said, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I would be a great teacher, don’t get me wrong,” Lance said, holding his hand over his heart, “but we both know I’m not going to finish this course tonight.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Look, I can do the elements but this is Round Four--this is literally designed to be nearly impossible.”

“Why are you even here if you don’t think--” but Keith was interrupted by Lance kissing him. His brain shorted out and he merely blinked at Lance when he stepped away, one hand still wrapped gently around the back of Keith's skull.

“You didn’t reply to my texts.”

“Kogane!”

Keith startled at the voice but Lance stayed still, looking at Keith with a smirk before letting his hand fall away.

“I--”

“Go win it.”

Keith closed his mouth with a snap and stepped toward the door, keeping his eyes on Lance as he did so. What the actual fuck was happening to him right now?

“And our next Round Four hopeful is Arizona’s Keith Kogane,” Matt said, his voice booming from the large sound stage beneath the announcer platform.

There was a round of cheers as Keith walked out. He hadn’t realized people were cheering for him. He knew they were excited by the prospect of seeing people fail and seeing a smaller number of them succeed, but he hadn’t realized there were others out there who actually supported him personally. He glanced around the crowd, still dazed by Lance’s words and kiss (kiss?!) before. He managed to wave.

“And this is it, folks. Our first competitor failed to make it past the second obstacle but will Keith succeed? Could he be this season’s champion and win one million dollars?”

There was a roar from the crowd in answer.

Keith couldn’t help but smile. He turned to the first obstacle, happy to note it was his favorite, the Iron Summit. Keith grinned, shook out his hands, and leapt.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of these in person before.”

Lance looked down at the giant check sitting beside Keith on the floor of his hotel room. Keith didn’t ask how Lance knew which room he was in, but made a note to eat all of Shiro’s mac and cheese when they got home.

“Not sure if my bank will take it.”

Lance grinned and offered his hand, helping Keith up to his feet. He was still sore, his hands blistered and his shoulders and back aching.

“One million dollars for being able to climb things, who knew.” Lance said, stepping back once Keith was on his feet. He had one hand in his pocket and the other at the back of his head, fingers running through the short strands.

“Lance--”

“Look, I know going on a TV show isn’t the smartest or most efficient way of getting someone’s attention but when I saw you had made Phoenix I don’t know what came over me. I was already trying to woo Allura and then I had signed up and made it through Round One and knew I was going to see you again.” The words came out in a rush, Lance’s eyes on the ground the whole time. His shoulders were tense, the light blue of his rumpled t-shirt making his eyes stand out.

“You have my number.”

“And you never replied to any of my messages!” Lance looked up then, dark eyelashes framing his stupidly blue eyes with his dumb, wide shoulders and insidious, tiny waist. It was, frankly, rude to look so good in a t-shirt and jeans and Keith hated him for it but couldn’t stop staring.

“So you just can’t take a hint.”

“Look, I lied. About remembering. I just…” he trailed off for a minute but Keith held his tongue, mind whirling at the admission. He did remember? He’d remembered and lied about it, then carefully orchestrated a plan to stalk Keith and force him to interact on television? “I didn’t think you would want to be reminded if you didn’t already remember and I was going to just leave you alone but then you started following me on Insta and I knew something was--”

“Wait, how did you know I was following you?”

“Nobody else would have the username MrBrightside95 and post a single photo of their cat and nothing else. How is Black, by the way?”

Keith bit his lip but knew he couldn’t talk his way out of that one. “Officially Shiro’s now.”

“Who the fuck names their cat after a color? The wrong color, too? It’s a ginger cat, Keith, you could have just called her Scarlet.”

Lance looked at him, clearly exasperated and Keith couldn’t stop the nervous laugh that escaped him. Lance let out a huff of breath then too, shaking his head.

“I just...I couldn’t leave things the way they were. You clearly remembered and I lied about it and it didn’t feel right.”

“How do you know I remembered?”

“See above Insta follow. You’re Keith Kogane, you hate social media. I figured it had to mean something.”

Okay, so Keith should have thought of that one. And he really shouldn’t have posted that picture of Black, no matter how cute she was lying in that sunbeam.

“Sorry.”

“Me too.”

They stood there then, silence falling over the room. Keith glanced at the check leaning against the wall again, his name in scrawling letters, a one with all those zeros behind it. Shiro and Adam had gone out to celebrate, Keith insisting that he wanted to stay in, take a shower, and crawl into bed.

“I knew you could do it.”

Lance was smiling at him again and Keith softened. “James?”

“Yeah, training with that prat was a mistake. Seriously, how did you ever date him?”

Keith chuckled again.

“I mean, sure, he kind of knows how to get from point A to point B, but why is he always so surly? And why does he always need to be right? I mean, he didn’t even make it onto the show? Like how do you know more than me when--” Keith kissed him before he could keep going.

“Help me spend it?” he asked, nodding down toward the check.

Lance smiled. Lance fucking McClain smiled at him and in an instant Keith was gone and angry and confused and happy all at once. But he made a mental note to find that producer and thank them.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so obviously the ending is a bit rushed and abrupt but I just wanted fluff and didn't want to write myself into another 100k+ fic. Again, liberal use of the entire ANW world so I apologize if anyone is a superfan - I've seen like three episodes and it seemed like something the boys would do for fun. Also blue Gatorade is the superior Gatorade but Keith is an idiot and likes his aesthetic.


End file.
